


Drink these draining seconds

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Snowed In, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 14:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: There are definitely worse times to be laid up with the be-all-end-all of headaches.





	Drink these draining seconds

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from tumblr. Find me @builder051

Steve knows what’s up as soon as he opens his eyes.  The bedroom windows glow with greyish brightness too strong for five in the morning in December.  There’s only one thing that can cause it.

 

He slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Bucky, and tiptoes to the window.  He pulls back the curtains and squints into the street below.  Everything’s blanketed in at least a foot of snow, the street lights reflecting off it and casting the whole neighborhood into artificial brightness.  The sky is pure white, and the precipitation shows no sign of stopping. 

 

“What’re you doing?” Bucky mumbles sleepily from his cocoon of blankets.

 

“It’s snowing,” Steve says, unable to keep himself from smiling.

 

“Hm.”  Bucky pulls the quilt into a hood over his head.  “It’s cold.”

 

“That’s true,” Steve acquiesces.  “I’ll turn up the heater.  It’s definitely a snow day.  No way anyone’s getting to work in this.”

 

“Then let’s go back to sleep.”

 

Steve smiles.  He nips into the hallway to set the thermostat a few degrees warmer, then slides back between the sheets.  Bucky immediately wiggles into place as the small spoon to Steve’s larger one. 

 

Steve’s almost asleep again when a crash jars him back to awareness.  “What the hell?” he murmurs, looking around the bedroom. Bucky cringes into a ball beside him, and Steve pats his shoulder comfortingly.  He notices the alarm clock’s blank display and the sudden silence coming from the vents.

 

“It’s ok,” Steve says.  “I think the power just went out.”

 

Bucky groans something indistinct from under the blankets. 

 

“It’ll be ok.”  Steve gets up and pulls back the drapes again.  A car is smashed nose-to-nose with a telephone pole at the end of the block.  The driver seems alright, sitting on his back bumper with his cell phone out, but there isn’t a single light on the whole length of the street. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve reports.  “It’s just a power outage.  Somebody probably skidded and hit the line…”  He looks over his shoulder at Bucky to see if he’s taking it in.  He stirs slightly and groans again.

 

“You don’t have to be scared,” Steve says, sitting on the edge of the mattress.  “It’ll come back on.”

 

“…No…”

 

Steve’s puzzled.  It’s hardly the first snowstorm they’ve endured, though it’s been a while.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Hurts,” Bucky says into the pillow.  “’M cold.”

 

“D’you feel sick?” Steve asks.  He pulls the covers down a few inches from Bucky’s face and presses the backs of his knuckles to his cheekbone.  Bucky screws up his eyes.

 

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve says.  “You don’t feel warm…”

 

“My head,” Bucky grunts through gritted teeth.  “And…kind of my stomach.”

 

It starts to come together for Steve.  He shoots a glare at the too-bright windows and asks softly, “Does it feel like a migraine?”

 

“Feels…bad.”

 

“Yeah.  I’m sorry, Buck.”  Steve gently traces his fingers down the shape of Bucky’s arm under the quilt.  “It might feel better to cover your eyes back up, if the light’s hurting.”

 

“I…” Bucky starts, propping himself up on his stump shoulder.  “I don’t…”  He swallows convulsively and reaches for the edge of the bed. 

 

“Ok, I’ll get you the trash can,” Steve says, jumping to his feet and springing to the ensuite.  He brings the bin back to the bedside and strokes Bucky’s hair down his neck as he retches. 

 

“It’s alright.  Breathe,” Steve soothes.  Bucky’s stomach is empty, and it doesn’t take long for the heaves to turn dry.  He coughs painfully, and Steve pats him on the back.  “It’s gonna be ok, Buck.”

 

Bucky grips the rim of the trash can with white knuckles, his entire body trembling.  Spit dangles from his lower lip into the depths of the bin. 

 

“Do you think you’re done?” Steve asks. 

 

Bucky makes a small noise that might be assent. 

 

“Ok.”  Steve wrests the bin from his grip and sets it on the floor, then takes Bucky’s hand in both of his own.  He rubs circles into his palm, then presses a kiss to his knuckles before whispering, “Tell me what you need, Buck.  We could try painkillers, or…”  He trails off, doubtful that anything he suggests will actually help. 

 

“Just…”  Bucky maneuvers off his stump arm and collapses to the mattress with his forehead pressed against Steve’s thigh. “Please?”  His voice is muffled by the bedsheets, but Steve hears him plainly.

 

“Yeah.”  Steve pets Bucky’s hair back from his face.  “I’ll stay here with you.  Till you feel better.”  He looks down at Bucky’s pained expression, and his heart breaks a little.  “And after that.  I’ll stay here with you then too.”


End file.
